


Love Love Love

by FandomTrash24601



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Porn, F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M, Pon Farr, Songfic, Spock's a dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 08:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15021140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrash24601/pseuds/FandomTrash24601
Summary: In which what Sarek says- or, more accurately, doesn't say- has a greater impact than he could ever have imagined.A fic based on the song 'Love Love Love' by Of Monsters and Men.





	Love Love Love

_Well, maybe I'm a crook for stealing your heart away_  
_Yeah, maybe I'm a crook for not caring for it_  
_Yeah, maybe I'm a bad, bad, bad, bad person_  
_Well, baby, I know_

“Spock,” Nyota says one night in Spock’s quarters.

They are discussing the language of a planet that the Enterprise recently visited, a complex one that Nyota had viewed as nothing less than a personal challenge to translate and learn. Well, they were. Now Nyota is looking at him with dark, sad eyes, and if her hands were not clasped around a mug of tea they would be twitching with discomfort.

“Yes?”

Spock is hesitant to answer because he knows what she's going to say, because he's known that this conversation was coming for a while and he has been bracing for it but he still doesn't feel prepared.

“We need to talk about Jim,” she says.

Spock does not want to talk about Jim. He says as much to Nyota, who sighs.

“I don't want to have this conversation either, Spock, but we can't just ignore the elephant in the room.”

“There is not an elephant in my room, Nyota. We are on board a starship.”

“Don't be deliberately obtuse,” Nyota says, irritated. “I know that you know what that phrase means.”

Spock looks up at Nyota, who looks at him with sympathy but sternness. He will not be able to avoid this conversation.

“We must talk about Jim,” Spock says resignedly.

“He's in love with you, Spock.”

“I am aware.”

“He's _pining,_ Spock.”

“I am aware.”

“What do you plan to do about it?” Nyota asks, clutching her cup tighter. Her discomfort is obvious, but perhaps only so because Spock recognizes the subtle signs from his mother, who was shockingly like Nyota in some ways.

“I do not plan to do anything.”

“Why not?”

“The feelings of Captain Kirk will not last. He feels nothing more than temporary infatuation. Addressing them will only bring unnecessary discomfort.”

“Spock,” Nyota says, tone slow as if she is speaking to a child. “I've seen him when he’s ‘temporarily infatuated’ with someone. This isn't a crush, or lust. I've never seen him like this before. He loves you, Spock. The only question now is about your own feelings. Do you love him back?”

“Vulcans do not experience love,” Spock says. “His pursuit of me is futile.”

“Spock, I know that's not true.” Nyota’s voice is soft when she speaks. “Humans need love, we need loving relationships. Your mother was in a relationship with your father for over twenty years before… Are you saying that you believe that your father didn't love your mother?”

“I do not _believe,”_ Spock says. His eyes are fixed on the mug in Nyota’s hands, her fine fingers curving around it. “I know. My father told me when I was young that he married my mother because it was logical. He did not marry her because he loved her.”

“You think Vulcans don't experience emotions at all? Then what was that, on the bridge after Vulcan was destroyed?”

“I do not claim that Vulcans have no emotions, only that love is not among them. Anger, however, is. All sentient beings have the capability for anger. On the bridge after the destruction of Vulcan, my controls were in severe distress due to the loss of so many bonds. Jim’s taunts were aggravating, and I was unable to refrain myself from attacking him.”

“If you can feel anger, Spock, than you can feel love.”

“I can feel lust. There is a difference. Even the basest animals can feel anger and lust.”

“What about friendship?” Nyota protests. “I'm your friend, aren't I? Isn't Jim?”

“I do have preferences in companions,” Spock said. “However, I also have preferences in food, literature, and branches of science.”

“Preferences,” Nyota repeated. She shook her head. “Spock, do you even know how-?” She cut herself off and sighed heavily before continuing. “No, I suppose you don't. You're not in the habit of saying things that you know are foolish.”

“I do not say foolish things at all.” Spock says stiffly.

Nyota just looks at him with sad, human eyes. They remind him too much of his mother, how she would look at him when he would speak of Kolinahr or engage in somewhat heated debates of logic with his father. The memories of his mother bring with them a hot pain, and Spock does his best to ignore it. His bond with his mother, frayed and crudely snapped, has not ceased to hurt over the few years since her death.

“Spock,” Nyota says in the same aching tone of voice that his mother used to use sometimes. “You’re half human. You can't just ignore that. So you don't think that Vulcans feel love- and maybe they don't, I'm not one- but you can't ignore the fact that the species that half of your ancestors were a part of _does_ have emotions, and plenty of them.”

“The Vulcan aspects of my heritage are far more in control. Humans may have emotion, but I do not experience emotion as humans do despite your insistence.”

Nyota looks like she sort of wants to hit him. The look is familiar, having been seen on a multitude of faces in the past. It's a particularly human thing, something Spock was only first exposed to when he began to attend the Academy.

“Spock,” she says, but she seems to have run out of arguments because she doesn't finish her sentence.

“Has your department been functioning satisfactorily recently, Nyota?” Spock asks.

It's an abrupt change of topic, not subtle in the slightest, but Nyota doesn't know how to continue their previous line of conversation, so she replies with a reluctant, “It has.”

They do not return to the subject of Jim’s temporary infatuation or Spock’s lack of human emotions.

_And these fingertips_  
 _Will never run through your skin_  
 _And those bright blue eyes_  
 _Can only meet mine across the room_ _filled with people that are less important than you_

Spock stands against a wall in the crowded ballroom on Etarra III. The residents of Etarra III have signed a treaty and joined the Federation, and to show their appreciation they've thrown a massive party. There are too many people for Spock to be comfortable, and the Etarrans throw off their emotions intensely. Spock is not even certain that they’re aware of the strength with which their minds project.

Spock feels dizzy with it, drunk on the thoughts and feelings that swamp his mental shields. The drink in Spock’s hand is purely cosmetic, far too sweet for Spock to actually consume it. Most of the Enterprise crew is dancing, drinking, and laughing with the Etarrans. He spies Nyota being spun on the dancefloor by the eldest son of one of the more influential oligarchy members, and Chekov is surrounded by perhaps seven swooning Etarran woman who seem particularly fond of his curls.

“I might regret this,” McCoy says, having somehow appeared by Spock’s left shoulder unnoticed, “but penny for ‘em?”

Spock does not pretend to misunderstand the phrase, and responds with a simple, “The crew looks to be enjoying themselves.”

“Most of ‘em, yeah,” McCoy drawls.

“Is there a member of the crew in distress?” Spock asks, turning to look at McCoy.

McCoy only shrugs and takes a sip of his drink, something similar to Terran bourbon. After he lowers the drink from his mouth, he sighs heavily and then looks over at Spock.

“Take a look at the crowd,” he says. “Take a good look. See who’s missing.”

Spock turns and scans the crowd, the heady rush of emotion giving him vertigo. For several long moments, Spock cannot determine where any of the Enterprise crew are. He then finds Nyota, and Chekov, and Scotty over by the bar. Sulu can be discovered as well, and it hits Spock like a dip into cold water when he realizes who is missing.

“Where is the Captain?”

“There we go,” McCoy mutters. “He's in much the same position as you.”

Spock begins to scan the wall, and finds Jim by the door that exits to the grand hallway. He's leaning against the wall in a very similar position to Doctor McCoy, a drink clasped loosely in one hand. His eyes are fixed on his drink, which he swirls slowly. He stills suddenly, and looks up.

A room of people, human and Etarran, stands between them. The air is humming with nearly tangible emotion, heavy and oppressive. When Jim’s eyes meet his, though, so vivid even across a large, well-lit room, Spock’s skin tingles with the intensity in them. They're dark with something that Spock cannot identify, but the darkness disappears when Jim smiles.

“Hopeless idiot,” Spock thinks he hears McCoy mutter beside him.

“It is unlike the Captain to not partake in activities such as this,” Spock says, turning to look at McCoy when he speaks.

“Yeah, but the dumbass ingested a drink that has- somehow- taken away his ability to lie.”

“You have not brought him back to sickbay?” Spock inquires.

“I scanned him,” McCoy says, waving a hand dismissively. “He's totally fine, except for the inability to lie.”

Spock glances back at the far wall only to find that Jim is no longer there.

“Where-?”

“Hallway. You know, the one behind the door he was standing right next to?”

“There is no need for sarcasm, Doctor.”

“The day there's no need for sarcasm is the day I trust Jim not to get hurt on an away mission.” McCoy gestures at the door on the far wall. “Go on and find him, Spock. I know you want to.”

“Vulcans do not want,” Spock says reflexively, but begins his journey around the edge of the room to the doors.

McCoy simply scoffs and says, “Be careful what you say.”

Jim is, as McCoy predicted, in the hallway. The hall is long, wide, and tall, with impressive art on the peaked ceiling and beautiful architecture around the windows. It is by one of the massive windows placed every ten feet that Jim stands, arms propped on the sill of the glassless windows, peering into the night.

Jim stands tall when Spock exits and looks over at him. His face is astonishingly solemn before he breaks into a wide grin, blue eyes nearly glowing in the light of Etarra III’s two moons. He looks rather aesthetically pleasing in the light, silver shadows spilling across him.

“Spock,” he says, obviously pleased. “Hey.”

“Hello, Jim.”

Jim turns to face the window once more, arms crossed as he gazes into an alien night. He leans against the side of the window, and Spock spies his glass sitting empty on the sill.

“Isn't this beautiful?”

Spock steps forward to take in the view alongside Jim. The blond man is pleasantly cool at his side where their arms barely brush. Spock gazes at the view beyond the window, the spiraling towers of Etarra III’s capital bathed a silver-white in the moonlight. On the horizon of sprawling hills, one moon hangs low and large. The second hangs higher up and is only perhaps a third of the size of the first moon.

“It is certainly aesthetically pleasing.”

“It's always beautiful,” Jim says softly. “Almost every planet we visit, it's always beautiful. Beautiful cultures, beautiful planets, beautiful food,” Jim pauses and glances over at Spock before finishing with a hushed, “beautiful people.”

“You are intoxicated.”

Jim shrugs somewhat. He seems entirely unperturbed by his confession.

“Not really. I’m just… not hiding anything. My verbal filter is shot and I can’t lie.”

“What is there to hide?”

Jim laughs quietly and says, “A lot.”

They stand at the window for some moments, Jim propped against one side of the window with his shoulder, arms crossed, and Spock standing tall with his hands tucked behind his back. Spock can sense that Jim is looking at him, and turns his head to look back, still riding the high of the Etarran emotions.

“You're beautiful,” Jim murmurs. His gaze grows mournful. “I'm so in love with you.”

A conversation that Spock had with Nyota nearly six months ago springs to mind, and Spock realizes that he should have taken her advice. Had he addressed Jim’s affection after their conversation, there would have been a period of awkwardness before, hopefully, their relationship would have recovered. Spock would have been able to control the environment, the situation.

Now, though, he cannot. Jim has aired his thoughts during a party on the surface of an alien planet, and Spock must try to avoid disaster. The gaze that Jim had fixed on him is open and honest and terrified, and Spock takes a long moment to consider his words.

“I am most flattered,” he eventually says, “but I cannot return your affection.”

Jim’s face falls, and a sick feeling begins to grow in Spock’s stomach, an ache in his side. It must be Jim’s emotions, breaching Spock’s compromised shields. Spock continues despite the despair.

“Vulcans do not feel love, and therefore any romantic relationship between us would be wholly unsatisfying to you.”

“What about your parents?” Jim protests, standing straight. His eyes are very nearly even with Spock’s, and they glow with moonlight and a myriad of emotions. “They were married for, what, thirty years? More? Your mother would never have stayed if your father didn't love her, if their relationship was unsatisfying.”

“My mother most likely misinterpreted my father’s affection for her as love. As his mate, my father logically felt affection for her, but he informed me that he only married her because it was logical.”

“Of course he would say that,” Jim said. “What Vulcan would admit to anything less? That doesn't mean he didn't love her, too.”

“Jim,” Spock said. “Vulcans do not love. If we loved, we would allow marriage to be based on love, yet we base marriage solely on mental compatibility at an age that is too young for any known species to fall in love. Allowing love to flourish is only logical, and therefore if Vulcans could love then society would embrace love. It does not.”

“You're… You’re half human, though.” Jim’s face is one of a man losing all hope but trying anyways, railing against a hurricane with all the force he has and, predictably, failing. “Humans can love, you must be able to love as well.”

Spock notes with a sense of detached fascination that Jim is using the same arguments that Nyota had. He shakes his head and pretends that he doesn't notice Jim’s eyes dimming, the tears making them reflect in a devastating manner.

“I am predominantly Vulcan. I cannot love you in the manner that you require.”

Jim swallows hard and nods once sharply, the motion stiff and jerky. He sniffs quietly, and Spock averts his eyes to allow Jim to wipe away an errant tear. Beyond the window the landscape has changed as the first moon rises higher in the sky, the color changing from a silvery shade to a yellow-white. It washes out Jim’s skin, making him seem more frail.

“Okay,” Jim finally whispers. “Okay. I don't- I don’t like or understand your decision, but I'll respect it.”

“I am sorry, Jim,” Spock finally says.

Jim just shakes his head and turns to look out the window. His jaw is clenched, and tears he apparently cannot stop trail down his cheeks in silver drops.

“Why don't you, uh, head back to the party?” Jim suggests, voice cracking. “I'm sure Nyota would love to dance with you. I'm going to head back to the _Enterprise_ soon. If anyone asks… please tell them that I wasn’t feeling well?”

Jim is acting so atypical that Spock cannot refuse him anything more than he already has. He dips his head in acquiescence.

“Of course, Jim.”

“Captain,” Jim rasps at length.

For approximately the first year of their acquaintance, Jim strongly encouraged that Spock called him by name when they were off duty. Each and every time Spock addressed him as ‘Captain,’ Jim would remind him that he should address Jim by name. This is the first time in memory that Jim had asked the opposite. It is unsettling, to say the least.

“...Of course, Captain.”

Spock turns and heads back to the party, ignoring the sick nausea twisting in his gut and the sound of hitching breaths behind him.

He encounters McCoy by the refreshment table. The doctor looks up as Spock approaches and lifts his drink in greeting.

“Hey, Spock,” he says. “How’d it go?”

“It was, as I believe you would phrase it, an absolute shitshow.”

McCoy fixes Spock with an alarmed gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“I am certain that J- Captain Kirk will inform you in due time.”

“Why are you off first name basis?” McCoy asks, raising his eyebrows suspiciously. “How bad of a shitshow are we talking?”

“A rather large one, Doctor.”

“Shit,” McCoy mutters and makes to move towards the doorway, but Spock steps in front of him.

“Captain Kirk would like to be alone at this time. He will be returning to the ship before the party has ended.”

McCoy scowled, glancing over at the door. Spock's unsure if he will have to physically halt McCoy from exiting into the hallway.

“Fine,” McCoy says sourly.

Spock retreats to the wall where he began the night. He gazes out at the dance floor where the party is still in full swing, spying Scotty tripping over his feet as an Etarran woman tries to teach him how to dance. Nyota is now dancing with an Etarran woman who looks to be sexually interested in her.

Beyond, in the hallway, Spock knows that Jim is weeping as silently as he can, ashamed of such vulnerability and most likely deeply upset with Spock for his rejection. Regret flourishes like a rotten flower in Spock’s side. Not regret that he has rejected Jim, of course, but regret that his rejection caused Jim emotional pain.

As the party begins to wind down, Spock makes his way to the door to the hallway once again. The door is cracked, and Spock stands in such a way so that he can peer into the hall. It seems that Jim has fallen asleep sitting in the windowsill, leaning against one side of the window. McCoy is shaking him awake in an action more gentle than any Spock recalls ever having seen McCoy take when it comes to Jim.

“Jimmy,” McCoy coaxes. “Come on, Jimmy, let's get you back on board and into bed.”

“Bones?” Jim says.

“Yeah, kid. Who else?”

“...Dunno. I suppose maybe I was thinking that Spock had changed his mind.”

“Me too, Jimmy. He makes you happy- I can see that. I wish he could see it too.”

“He doesn't.” Jim begins to weep quietly again, and lets McCoy pull his legs down so he's sitting on the sill, facing inward. “He told me that Vulcans can't love, but that's… that's bullshit, right?

“Seems like it. After all, what about his parents?”

“I tried that argument.” Jim doesn't sound petulant, just _tired_. “It didn't work.”

“I know, kid. Come on, now.”

Spock watches as McCoy coaxes Jim down and supports his exhaustion-heavy body. They walk down the long, long hall, leaning on each other for support. Spock watches them until a turn of the hall swallows them up, and then stands for a moment longer before retreating to the refreshment table.

Perhaps a drink could solve the odd sense of dread that sits heavy in his stomach.

_All 'cause you love, love, love_   
_When you know I can't love_   
_You love, love, love_   
_When you know I can't love_   
_You love, love, love_   
_When you know I can't love you_

Spock stands in a transporter room aboard the _Enterprise_ , although it is not any transporter room. It is the room that received Spock and the Vulcan High Council, but not Amanda Grayson. There are still grains of sand from Vulcan on the platform, vividly red against the whiteness and sterility of the platform floor.

“Speak your mind, Spock.”

Odd. He never heard his father enter, so absorbed in the grains of sand, all that remained of his home planet, with which his mother had perished.

“That would be unwise.”

Spock isn't sure how his voice remains as steady as it does- even with all of his training, he feels as if he's being ripped apart from the inside, mind first. Is this how the rest of his species feels, the pitiful few that are left? Do they also feel as if their minds are collapsing, degrading, catching fire and dissolving as they are helpless to do anything, hands tied by overwhelming grief? Do they feel as if they might die without ever suffering physical injury, or is that just another human failing?

Human failing.

His mother had been responsible for all of his human failings, indirectly. But were they really failings? Could a person such as his mother ever do anything that could be considered a failing?

“What is necessary is never unwise.”

“I am as conflicted as I once was as a child.”

A most grievous understatement. A few simple words could not possibly begin to explain the tempest raging inside of him, demanding to be released in full. His earlier outburst and violence against Kirk did not help abate the itching under his skin, the emptiness in his side, the desperation to fix whatever had broken deep inside of him.

“You will always be a child of two worlds. I am grateful for this, and for you.”

He cannot possibly be serious. For so many years, Sarek strongly encouraged him to follow the Vulcan way. He did not once encourage Spock’s exploration of his human side, never once explained that the Vulcans would never truly accept him as one of their own, no matter how hard he tried to be perfect. Spock turns and looks at his father.

“I feel anger for the one who took Mother’s life,” Spock says. “An anger I cannot control.”

Again, an understatement. Sarek approaches him, and Spock suddenly feels like crying, something he has not done since he was young and still learning to control his emotions. His mother comforted him, then, but he has nobody to hold him now. His father is far too dignified, far too Vulcan.

“I believe that she would say,” Sarek begins, and the ‘she’ needs no clarification, “‘Do not try to.’”

“I am Vulcan,” Spock says, feeling helpless and automated and far too fragile. The words he speaks taste bitter with untruth. “We must control ourselves.”

“You are half human,” Sarek says. “For once, I urge you to follow your mother’s advice and behave in a more human manner.”

Spock says nothing for the longest time, simply staring at his father. Eventually Sarek turns and leaves, and Spock cannot help but feel that they are both choking on words unsaid, on thoughts they second guess.

_So I think it's best we both forget before we dwell on it_   
_The way you held me so tight_   
_All through the night_   
_'Til it was near morning_

Spock burns, and he doesn't know what to do. They are too far from New Vulcan- even if Spock had informed Jim the moment he realized that he was entering Pon Farr, they would not have made it to New Vulcan.

Spock attempts to meditate. No Vulcan has ever succeeded in meditating through Pon Farr, but perhaps his human blood will allow him to succeed.

_Your human blood did not protect you from experiencing Pon Farr,_ some part of him thinks. _Why would it help you survive?_

He ignores that part of him.

His hands shake when he lights the incense, when he clasps them together, when he bows his head to press the tips of his fingers to the space between his lips and his nose. The shaking spreads from his hands, to his arms, to the rest of his body. If he could just _focus,_ perhaps he could-

Any concentration he has is shattered when the door slides open without even a buzz for entry. He has locked his door and there are only two people on board the ship who could override it, only one of whom would be so presumptuous to enter without even warning him.

“Spock,” Jim says, voice shaking with what may be fury. Spock shuts his eyes even tighter. “Spock, what the _hell.”_ Jim’s voice cracks slightly on the last word, and Spock opens his eyes and looks up at the intruder.

Jim still wears his captain’s uniform, his hands in fists at his sides. His face glows with a righteous fury, eyebrows furrowed and jaw set, his expression made even more impressive by the firelight casting shadows across his face. Distress is evident in his eyes, bright blue and terribly, terribly human.

He’s gorgeous, and Spock has to clench his hands to stem the shaking and stop himself from reaching for Jim. The burning increases, the fire in his blood demanding the available body, demanding satiation. Spock can almost taste the salt of Jim’s skin, feel the slide and twitch of his muscles under Spock’s hands, hear the desperate moans and pants spilling from Jim’s pink, plush lips. Spock takes a deep breath to try and control himself as the fire inside of him rages hotter.

“Jim,” He says hoarsely. “What-”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Jim demands, cutting him off. His voice still shakes, and betrayal drips from every word, sharp and hot. Spock resists flinching, but only just. “Why didn't you tell me that you're dying, Spock?”

“There is nothing that you could have done,” Spock manages to say. “We are too far from New Vulcan.”

“I called your father,” Jim says, tone accusing. “You can survive without going back home. Hell, you can survive without even _bonding.”_

“Pon Farr is a private matter,” Spock says, voice shaking. “Why did my father inform you of it?”

“Hell if I know,” Jim replies. His voice is tense, as is his body language, arms crossed over his chest. “Now, answer me one question. Why are you choosing to die? This is survivable, Spock.”

“Pon Farr is shameful, a time when all logic and civility is stripped from us,” Spock whispers. “It is a very private matter- there would need to be complete trust between both my partner and I. That necessity narrows the field quite some bit. Aside from trust, I would require a partner who would be willing to receive injury and, more than that, be able to withstand any injuries I may inflict upon them. Without forming a bond, I must experience the full duration of Pon Farr, which can last up to a week. Any injuries would not be immediately treated, regardless of severity.”

“So you think that leaves you with nobody on board who can assist you,” Jim says, tone flat.

Spock turns his gaze back to the flame in front of him, attempting to control his shaking and the sense of vulnerability that Jim has thrust upon him.

“Yes.”

“Spock,” Jim says, and there is an implacable tone in his voice. “Look at me.”

Spock does, and finds Jim’s face heavy with what looks like determination. Jim kneels down by Spock, brilliant eyes not once leaving Spock’s.

“You trust me, don't you? You trust me completely.”

Spock is unsure where the conversation is going, the flame in his blood slowing his mental faculties. Jim is so close, all he has to do is reach out and take, claim...

“Affirmative.”

“And I trust you completely.” Jim raises his eyebrows and holds up a finger. “That's one issue out of the way.”

Spock finally realizes with a sinking feeling what Jim is doing. He’s discounting Spock’s issues one by one, putting himself forth as a- as the _only-_ candidate. Spock swallows hard, knowing that he will be unable to stop Jim. Once Jim is determined to do something, he manages to do it, one way or another.

“I already know about Pon Farr,” Jim says, holding up another finger. “You won't be betraying your people’s trust or whatever by letting me in on this secret Vulcan thing.”

“Jim,” Spock says quietly. Their eyes have never disconnected, Jim’s shining with a second emotion behind the determination, but Spock for the life of him cannot name it. Emotions, after all, are not the specialty of Vulcans.

“I have a high pain tolerance, and can take a beating,” Jim says, holding up a third finger. “I'm no delicate flower, Spock, trust me.”

“Jim,” Spock repeats. His voice is ragged and grating, and for a moment Spock reflects that he sounds almost beastly. “Jim, you cannot-”

“I can and I will,” Jim says, eyes flashing.

“I am aware of your feelings-”

“My feelings for you have nothing to do with this,” Jim says and this time it's he who sounds like a beast, voice rough. “I- I love you, even after so long, but I would do this even if I didn't.”

“Then why?”

“Because you were my friend before I fell in love with you,” Jim whispers. “You still are.”

“Do you offer to copulate with all of your friends?” Spock manages to ask, the burning in his skin and his blood making it hard to think, much less make a joke.

Jim laughs and it sounds almost like a sob. Spock thinks he can see tears beginning to well up in Jim’s blue, blue eyes, but they're blinked back fiercely. Jim continues to keep his eyes fixed on Spock.

“Spock,” he says quietly. “Let me help you through this.”

“I may hurt you, Jim,” Spock warns him. His shaking begins to grow more uncontrollable. Jim’s offer has ignited Spock’s blood, and he can hardly make sense of anything over the thunderous beating of his heart.

When Jim smiles at him, his eyes shine with obvious tears.

“You already did,” he whispers, and a single tear drops from his eyes, rolling fat down his cheek. “Two years ago, at a party on Etarra III.”

He reaches out and lays a slightly trembling hand on Spock’s arm. Spock- there’s no other word for it- snaps. Within a moment he has Jim pinned to the ground underneath him, their hands clasped together, and spares a second or two to kiss away the other tears that have leaked from Jim’s eyes before he begins to press hot, open mouthed kisses down Jim’s neck.

Jim makes a sound like he's dying and tries to buck up, but Spock just squeezes his hands tighter and growls, nipping at the juncture of Jim’s neck and shoulder instead of kissing. He rolls his hips down against Jim’s, who gasps and moans.

“Spock,” Jim whispers, eyes shut tight as if he’s in agony. _“Spock.”_

Spock growls, the fire in his blood searing hot and turning any logic or sense to ash. His mate is in distress, is coherent enough to be in distress. This must be amended. His mate must burn as Spock does, must be as desperate as Spock is.

Jim eventually coaxes Spock to the bed, where Spock tears both of their clothing off with little care and hurriedly prepares Jim in much the same way. He cries out, back bowing when Spock enters him, fingers digging green grooves into Spock’s back. Spock snarls and bites his collarbone until he draws foreign red blood in retaliation, and Jim shudders when he does, muffling a cry in Spock’s hair.

Jim’s body is perfect, cool and tight, and still Spock wants to be closer. He grips great handfuls of pale, pink flesh and bites at Jim’s chest, marking him with nails and teeth until he’s nearly sobbing. His hands are pinned above his head by one of Spock’s hands, the other one of which is free to torture his mate.

“Please,” Jim gasps, arching and twisting.

He goes nowhere, and Spock growls, grips tighter until he can feel bones grind under his hands and leans down to bite savagely at a spot behind Jim’s ear that pulls a shout from him. Jim’s legs are wrapped around Spock’s waist, tugging him closer, and Spock goes along with Jim’s wishes, thrusting harder and faster until Jim spills across their chests with a scream that Spock muffles with his mouth.

He tastes blood, bitter iron, and perhaps Jim has bitten his cheek or his tongue but Spock doesn't care enough to stop and find out. He continues to thrust, desperately chasing his own release, ignoring the whimpers and moans spilling from Jim as he squirms from oversensitivity, fingers clenching and unclenching uselessly.

When Spock tips over the edge he muffles his hoarse cry deep in Jim’s neck, pulling an echoing cry from Jim. The pleasure overwhelms him and then drains him, taking the fire- temporarily- with it. Spock collapses on top of Jim, then pulls out and rolls off.

Jim rolls on to his side too, and then makes a move to leave the bed. The fire flares up once more for a moment, and Spock nearly growls as he reaches out to grab at Jim’s hip and drag him forcefully back into bed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay,” Jim says, as if he's dealing with a monster.

Perhaps he is.

In any case, monster or not, Spock tugs Jim against him so they're spooning, and drapes one of his legs over Jim’s legs. His arm drapes across Jim’s chest like an old-fashioned seatbelt. Spock tucks his face into Jim's neck, already littered with bruises, and lets himself slide into sleep.

The next few days are a blur as the blood fever mounts and eventually subsides. Four days later- Spock believes that he must thank his human blood for this small miracle, his unusually short Pon Farr- Spock wakes in the middle of the ship's night, and can tell by the calmness inside of him that the fever is over.

Next to him, sprawled on his stomach with one of Spock’s arms draped across his waist, is Jim. His pale skin is marred with scratches and bruises, not an inch of him having escaped Spock’s violence. Jim’s face, tilted towards Spock and half smothered by a pillow, fares better than the rest of him. His lip, however, is split, and Spock believes that there might be a bite mark on the cheekbone half obscured by the pillow.

Seeing Jim in such a state is a shock to Spock, but he cannot help but be aroused. Those are _his_ marks, _his_ bites and scratches. Jim looks thoroughly debauched, as he should. If Spock focuses on specific marks, he can vaguely recall how some of them were made.

Jim’s wail, a desperate thing as Spock sucks a large, livid bruise on his inner thigh. Fingers scrabbling at Spock’s back, drawing blood as he makes a particularly deep bite mark on the top of Jim’s shoulder. Jim’s full body shudder as Spock drags nails down the side of his rib cage. A savage bite on Spock’s ear in return for a savage bite to Jim’s neck.

As if attuned to Spock’s thoughts and arousal, Jim shifts and blinks open one eye blearily. It is hazy with sleep and persistent fatigue, but focused on Spock.

“‘S it over?” Jim slurs.

“My Time has passed,” Spock assures him. “You look to be in pain, perhaps you should seek Doctor McCoy.”

“Too early,” Jim murmurs. “He’d kill me if I woke him up. I'll wait ‘til morning.”

“Delaying the alleviation of pain is illogical,” Spock protests.

Jim huffs laughingly and closes his eye. For a moment, Spock thinks he has fallen back asleep. He has not, and Spock nearly starts when Jim next speaks.

“Neither’s your big Vulcan fuck or die thing,” Jim says, voice quiet with exhaustion. “And besides, I’ve been in worse pain. Now shhhhhhh. ‘M tired.”

Spock watches silently for nearly a minute, at a loss, before Jim begins to make a sound almost like a purr. A gentle flex of fingers on Jim’s hip provides no response, and Spock tugs Jim just a bit closer before attempting to sleep once more himself.

When they wake the next morning, Jim moves to stretch and immediately groans in pain, collapsing back into a limp form. Spock is quite alarmed by this, but Jim waves him off and tells him to go shower.

“I’ll be up and waiting for my turn by the time you get out,” Jim says. “I promise.”

Spock is reluctant to leave, as Jim doesn't seem quite capable of doing much on his own, but he leaves nonetheless. When he exits the bathroom, he finds Jim leaning against the wall that the door to the bathroom is on, wearing one of Spock’s robes.

“I hope you don't mind,” Jim says, “but you kind of ripped all of my clothing.”

Spock fights a blush, and steps aside to let Jim enter.

Ten minutes later, Jim and Spock are both prepared to leave for sickbay. The marks on both of them cannot be hidden, and neither can Jim’s frighteningly severe limp, but they cannot change either of those things.

“I don't think we’ll run into anyone anyways,” Jim says, shrugging and then wincing just slightly. “Alpha’s already started.”

Jim is correct, and they do not run into anyone on the way to sickbay, but they cannot avoid being seen by the sickbay staff. Christine Chapel raises both eyebrows and Geoffrey M’Benga gives Spock a slightly sympathetic look, but other than that they make it to McCoy’s office unseen.

McCoy looks up when they enter, then takes a moment to blink in shock or alarm, Spock can’t tell. He stands and comes around the desk, tricorder in hand and going directly to Jim, snapping about idiots throwing themselves into things they don't understand. Jim does not protest or crack a joke, but allows McCoy to rant.

McCoy, once he has scanned Jim to his own contentedness, ushers them out of his office and into the main sickbay, where he further ushers them to ‘their’ beds and draws the curtains around both. Spock sits in his small partition, silent. On the other side, Jim and McCoy speak in quiet tones that nevertheless carry enough for Spock to hear them.

“I can't believe you,” McCoy fumes.

“I know,” Jim replies.

“What in the name of God were you thinking!? You didn't warn me, you _clearly_ didn't prepare. What could possibly have been goin’ through your idiot, corn-fed mind?”

“Spock was going to _die,_ Bones, I couldn't just let him-”

“Looks more like the only one in danger of dyin’ was you, Jim.”

“Feels like it, too, but I’m not lying. I didn't just do this to get in bed with him, I did it because he's my friend.”

McCoy sighs and says without any scolding or heat, “I know, Jim.” Then, as if it is an afterthought that he’s reluctant to voice, “Do you still-?”

“Yes. Now please, just… fix me up?”

“Okay, Jim. Okay.”

The following minutes are silent apart from the normal sounds of sickbay beyond the curtains. When the silence is broken by an irate sounding McCoy, Spock knows that he has healed all the bruises, bites, and scratches, and has discovered Jim’s likely broken wrists and other internal injuries.

“Jim,” McCoy says. His voice shakes with repressed fury. “I have to ask if this was consensual.”

“Bones,” Jim says in a tone that is meant to placate McCoy. “I went in to this knowing I could be- and would most likely be- hurt. He had my complete consent to do anything he needed to do to survive, even if I didn't exactly have the time to tell him.”

“He _broke your wrists,_ Jim, along with three of your ribs. God knows what he did to your backside.”

“I'll take some broken bones and a bruised ass if it means Spock lives, Bones. You have to understand that.”

McCoy responds with nothing more than an irritated huff, and Jim’s side of the curtain falls silent again. Spock feels rather nauseous, and clenches his fists, but that only reminds him of how easily Jim’s wrists groaned and broke in his grip, how fragile Jim is and how much harm Spock has done to him, and the nausea increases. Spock focuses on his breathing instead until the silence is broken once more.

“You're good to go,” McCoy says, tone tense. “Take the rest of the day off, make sure you're in tip top shape after your insane idea to jump headlong into a brutal alien… ritual, or whatever it is.”

“Bones,” Jim says pleadingly. “Don't be like this. You know I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hadn’t done it.”

“I do know,” McCoy affirms. “And that's why I won't tear into Spock about your injuries. Now go, and if I hear about you setting one foot on that bridge I will come up and hypo you into unconsciousness myself.”

“Thank you,” Jim murmurs, so low that Spock can hardly hear it.

The curtain surrounding Jim's bed is drawn back with the curious hiss of metal rings on a metal rim, and quickly followed by strong steps that Spock could recognize anywhere as Jim departs. Knowing he only has a moment or two before McCoy pulls back Spock’s curtain to treat him, no doubt with a dramatic rant and nonsensical euphemisms. He sits up straighter, tucking his hands neatly in his lap, and tries to look as serene as he possibly can.

“Spock,” McCoy says as he pulls open the curtain and then shuts it behind him. With a sense of fascination, Spock notes that McCoy’s back is as straight as any Vulcan’s, his face as stern. “I am only going to tell you this once.” His speech is oddly formal, lacking any euphemisms, and his tone is forcibly calm. “I am this close-” He holds up his pointer finger and thumb, close enough together that they are almost touching. “-to tearing you a new one. I told Jim that I wouldn't, though. So you are going to make this easier for both of us by only speaking when I ask you a question, and answering in a straightforward manner. Okay?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Spock says.

McCoy nods jerkily and holds up a tricorder, his eyes very purposefully not meeting Spock’s. For a long while Spock sits in silence as McCoy scans him and then begins to heal the marks that Jim had left on him. Spock’s examination takes far less time than Jim’s had, as Jim had been far more wounded.

“You look fit as a fiddle compared to Jim,” McCoy nearly sneers. “You really do turn into savages during Pon Farr, huh?”

“Indeed we do,” Spock says quietly. “It is unfortunate that Jim was subject to Pon Farr. I attempted to dissuade him, but-”

“You can't dissuade Jim Kirk from doing anything,” McCoy mutters. “I know.”

McCoy finally steps back and sets down the regenerator. He picks up his PADD and taps a few buttons, then sighs. His anger is obvious, still simmering just below the surface of his calm facade.

“You're perfectly fine. Hormones normal, risk of you going berserk very minimal. Congratulations, you're good to return to your room and meditate, or whatever the hell you guys do after Pon Farr.”

McCoy fixes Spock with a glare, and his lips are white where they're pressed together with obvious force. Finally he sighs and relaxes his stance somewhat, although his jaw is still clenched.

“If you set one foot in Jim’s room,” he begins in a low voice. “I will not hesitate to drag you back down here and hold you overnight for observation, just because I can.”

“Understood, Doctor.”

“Good. Now go.”

Spock goes.

_'Cause you love, love, love_   
_When you know I can't love_   
_You love, love, love_   
_When you know I can't love_   
_You love, love, love_   
_When you know I can't love you_

Spock wakes one morning a week before finals to find a message in his inbox from Jim. It is an unexpected occurrence, since the two of them have fallen out of contact since Spock left the _Enterprise_ at the conclusion of its five-year mission, four years prior. Jim had, of course, attempted to stay in contact, but Spock’s occupation as a teacher at the new VSA has left him little time to correspond with his former Captain.

Spock leaves T’Soret in their bed and sits down at his desk, where he opens the message. It is a formal invitation to something, that much Spock can tell at first glance from the script font and color. Gold, looping cursive spills across the page and declares: _You're invited…_

Spock very nearly raises an eyebrow when he sees that he's been invited to a wedding. Not just any wedding, but the wedding of James Tiberius Kirk and Carol Elizabeth Marcus, two months from today.

Carol had replaced him as Chief Science Officer when Spock left the ship, and has, as far as Spock has heard, made a superb replacement. He knows of Jim’s relationship with Carol, nearly everyone in the Federation knows about the relationship between Starfleet’s best Captain and the daughter of the posthumously dishonorably discharged Admiral Marcus, but he had not expected an invitation to their wedding.

“Spock,” T’Soret asks, sitting up. Her ebony hair falls unpinned around her shoulders, but her back is as straight as ever. “What have you received?”

“An invitation to the wedding of James Kirk and Carol Marcus.”

T’Soret raises an eyebrow.

“It is sure to be a most intriguing event.”

“Indeed.”

“Are you going to accept?”

Spock takes a moment to think. He has hardly spoken to Jim since Spock resigned from Starfleet to join the ranks of the new VSA on New Vulcan. However they had been very close once, and it would be rude to refuse.

“I believe so,” Spock says at length. “It would be a most enlightening experience, seeing as every member of the _Enterprise’s_ bridge crew was most likely invited. I could perhaps ‘catch up’ with my former crew, as humans say.”

“If Captain Kirk has extended an invitation, he would certainly be pleased with your presence. I believe that your former crew would be happy to see you after these past years,” T’Soret agrees.

“There is a plus one on my invitation, if you would find it agreeable to attend the event with me.”

“My schedule may not permit it,” T’Soret says, standing from their bed. “However, I will attempt to make time to attend the wedding.”

As it turns out, T’Soret can indeed rearrange her schedule to fit the wedding, as can Spock. When the two of them arrive on Earth the day before the wedding, it is Nyota who greets them when they make it to San Francisco.

“Spock,” Nyota says warmly and smiles, raising her hand in a flawless ta’al. “Dif tor he smusma.”

“Sochya eh dif,” Spock replies, returning the gesture. “Nyota, this is T’Soret, she who is my wife.”

Nyota dips her head in polite greeting but does not smile at T’Soret.

“T’Soret,” Nyota says. “It is wonderful to meet you.”

“I am not dissatisfied to meet you, as well.”

It has been several years since Spock has seen Nyota or any other member of the _Enterprise’s_ bridge crew. Nyota does not look much changed, her hair still long and sleek, her skin still dark and smooth, her eyes still warm and kind. She stands taller now, though, and her confidence seems to have improved since Spock has last seen her.

“I rented a shuttle,” Nyota says. “It's right outside, Sulu’s waiting to drive you to your hotel.”

“Your willingness to assist us is most appreciated,” Spock says. “It was not necessary.”

“Oh, I know,” Nyota says. She then smiles sadly at Spock. “I just missed you, is all. It’s good to see you again.”

“It is most pleasant to see you again as well, Nyota. How do the other members of the bridge crew fare?”

“Why don't I tell you on the way to the hotel?” Nyota asks.

“An agreeable idea,” T’Soret says. “I read a report this morning that predicted rain soon, and I do not relish the idea of getting wet.”

“Come on then,” Nyota says, waving them over.

They begin to follow her towards the exit and the shuttle that waits for them. It is warm, but the sky is overcast and cloudy, the air humid like it becomes before a large storm. Spock has been away for too long. Once, he would have found this bearable. Now, he resists the urge to wrinkle his nose in a human display of disgust.

“Good afternoon, Spock,” Sulu says when the three of them get into the shuttle, turning to smile over his shoulder. “How are you and your wife?”

“We are adequate,” Spock replies. “How is your family?”

“Oh, everything is amazing,” Sulu says, turning back around and beginning to drive. “Ben and I had another kid, a little boy named James.”

“You named your second child after Captain Kirk?”

“We did,” Sulu says proudly. “Jim adores him. He’s already three and wants to be just like his Uncle Jimmy when he grows up.”

“I am certain that he will one day make an admirable captain,” Spock says, the intricacies of conversations with humans coming back with ease. He believes that there is an apt human idiom about bicycles. “What of your eldest, Demora?”

“She's thirteen now,” Sulu says, almost wistful. “She's already set on being a botanist in Starfleet. A mix of the professions of both of her fathers, she says.”

“Perhaps she might serve under James in the future.”

Sulu laughs, navigating the city with ease. “Oh, I’d love to see that.”

“Nyota,” Spock says, “How do the other members of the crew fare?”

“Chekov is head of tactical as well as chief navigator, now that Sulu is Jim’s first officer,” Nyota said. “Scotty’s just as eccentric as he’s always been, still Chief of Engineering-”

“As well as Nyota’s boyfriend of two years,” Sulu says, sounding smug. “I set them up.”

“Yes,” Nyota admits, sounding amusedly exasperated. “He's also my boyfriend. Jaylah is his favorite engineer, although he won't admit it. She could be Chief of Engineering on another ship if she wanted to, she's absolutely brilliant, but she refuses any and all offers in order to stay with Scotty.

“Doctor McCoy remains CMO, of course, although he started seeing Christine Chapel about a month ago. He's no less sarcastic and grumpy than he was when you left, although he managed to get his ex to let him talk to his daughter once a week.

“Jim is- well, Jim’s been doing pretty good for himself if you've been paying any attention to the news. He's signed plenty more treaties, he’s matured a lot. Him and Carol are a lovely couple. When this tour is over, they're going to settle down somewhat and try for a baby. Jim’s probably going to try to teach, and I think Carol will take a teaching position at the Academy, too.

“It is most satisfying to hear that all is well,” Spock replies. “It has been a long time since I have seen any of you.”

Sulu and Nyota say their goodbyes when they reached the hotel that Spock and T’Soret will be staying at. Spock is less than pleased to see Nyota leave, but he will see her tomorrow.

The hotel is eager to accommodate them, turning up the heat of their room to make them more comfortable. Their room is adequate, with a sonic shower and a king sized bed that, while a bit too soft, is not entirely uncomfortable. The two of them lay side by side on it that night, but Spock’s mind refuses to settle. T’Soret slides into a deep, restful sleep, and still Spock cannot ease his racing thoughts. They seem to be fixated on Jim, on odd memories of their time together that would not logically come to mind when Spock thinks of Jim or marriage or both Jim and marriage.

Blue eyes twinkle from across a chess board as Jim picks up and moves a knight with elegant fingers. Strong arms are holding him up as Spock staggers towards the entrance to the cave they've been trapped in for two days. A head tipped back, long neck bared when Spock finds Jim asleep on his couch when Spock enters Jim’s quarters to ask him a question. Little turquoise fingers stroking over golden hair, a child on a planet they're visiting fascinated by Jim’s hair color.

Eventually Spock does sleep, and it claims him with the sound of loud, ringing laughter and the feeling of strong hands clapping his shoulders.

The next day, when Spock and T’Soret arrive at Jim and Carol’s wedding venue, they are greeted first by Demora Sulu. She wears a simple white dress with a sash of sky blue silk. Her hair is in an elegant but simple updo, and her face has been done up in makeup. She beams at Spock and T’Soret, raising a hand in a passable ta’al.

“Hello, Mister Spock! Hello, uh…”

“T’Soret,” T’Soret says.

“Hello, T’Soret! I can show you two to your seats.”

Spock can sense that T’Soret is about to decline, and before she can, Spock says, “A most agreeable idea.”

Demora’s grin widens even further- and has it really been that Spock hasn't seen her since the situation with Krall and Yorktown? She was so young, then, carried off by Hikaru Sulu, a toy starship in her hand.

Their seats for the wedding itself are in the third row. The first and second are filled with family, far more of them related to Carol than Jim. Two rows in front of Spock and T’Soret, Winona Kirk sits next to Jim’s brother, Jim’s brother’s wife, and their two young children. It is startling to see a Kirk- or two- who doesn't have blonde hair and blue eyes. Jim’s brother’s wife is Greek, with olive skin and long, dark curls. Her dark curls and brown eyes appear in both of her children, although the Kirk genes refuse to be silenced and express themselves in the general restless attitude of every Kirk that Spock has ever met. Another startling thing is that Leonard McCoy is sat in the front aisle as well, where immediate family would sit. Spock shouldn't be surprised, and yet he is.

The wedding itself is beautiful. Carol wears a long white dress, it's slimness accentuating her figure. Her face is covered by a veil as someone who Spock assumes is her uncle escorts her up the aisle. Spock, however, focuses more on Jim. It has not truly been a long time since he has seen Jim, but it feels like it. He seems more mature overall, and he is strikingly handsome in a perfectly tailored gray suit, light blue tie perfectly accentuating his eyes. The edges of his eyes crinkle joyfully when he notices Spock’s presence, hardly noticeable over the crinkles from seeing Carol, but something in them flickers a moment later and he returns his attention to his bride-to-be.

The vows are gorgeous enough to bring tears to many an eye, and even Spock can appreciate them, although T’Soret seems wholly stiff and uncomfortable with all of the emotion. It is a nearly forgotten but not unwelcome experience for Spock. After the wedding, the newly wedded couple temporarily disappears, and the guests are herded into the reception hall.

Seated at the table with them is Uhura and Scotty, as well as three people that Spock does not recognize. Perhaps they are friends with Carol. Their table is near the front of the room, the table to the right of theirs seating Doctor McCoy, Christine Chapel, Chekov, Hikaru and Ben Sulu, as well as Demora and James.

The table to the left of theirs sat Carol’s mother and who Spock assumed was a sibling, along with Jim’s mother, brother, his brother’s wife, and their two kids. Jim’s niece and nephew were young- the nephew no older than five and the niece no older than three. They shriek and giggle, not too audible over the general hubbub of the room.

The speeches made by the best man and maid of honor- Doctor McCoy for Jim and a woman that Spock does not know for Carol- are amusing. The room is riotous with laughter, especially as Doctor McCoy speaks. Had he not become a doctor, Spock reflects that he would make a good motivational speaker or public speaker in general. Spock learns some things about Jim, especially about some antics of his at the Academy, and wonders how he never met Jim as a Cadet for academic matters before the end of Jim’s third year.

When, after a while, the wedding has become more of a party than a wedding, Spock runs into Jim on his way from the restroom. Jim’s eyes widen for a moment in surprise, and then he smiles brightly at Spock.

“Spock! It's great to see you!” Jim claps Spock on the upper arm, the familiarity making something in Spock’s side squeeze just a little bit.

“It has been quite some time.”

“So what's going on with your life?”

“I have a wife named T’Soret,” Spock says. “And am well occupied by my position as a teacher at the new Vulcan Science Academy.”

“That sounds great,” Jim enthuses. “No kids?”

“No, we do not have any children yet.”

“That's a shame,” Jim says. “You'd be a great father.”

“As would you,” Spock says. “I hear that you are planning on having children when this tour has completed?”

“Yeah,” Jim says, grinning. “Yeah, we are. Tiny Kirk-Marcuses running around…” Jim trails off and shakes his head, still smiling. “They're gonna be nightmares, but they'll be _our_ nightmares.”

“I am sure that they will be just as successful as their parents.”

“Oh, stop, you'll make me blush,” Jim says, laughing.

They return to the main hall together and are immediately approached by Carol. She has changed out of her wedding dress and into one more appropriate for a party situation. It is short and blue, somewhat resembling a sundress. She smiles when she reaches Jim and pulls him into a kiss. When Spock suddenly feels nauseous, he wonders if he somehow ate something that he should not have.

“I have to borrow my husband for a moment,” Carol says, hand around Jim’s arm. “But hello, Mister Spock!”

“Hello, Doctor Marcus,” Spock says politely. “It is no issue. I find myself in need of some fresh air.”

Spock watches until they disappear into the crowd, then finds T’Soret and tells her that he feels ill. They slip away unnoticed, and the last glimpse of Jim that Spock catches is his head thrown back in laughter when Doctor McCoy makes an amusing comment.

_All 'cause you love, love, love_   
_When you know I can't love_   
_You love, love, love_   
_When you know I can't love_   
_You love, love, love_   
_When you know I can't love you_

Sarek’s condition has deteriorated far faster than Spock could have predicted. Due to his miscalculations, he is being picked up by a Starfleet ship to be taken to New Vulcan, where his father lays dying. The Romulans that Spock have been associating with understand the importance of family, and let him go with no diplomatic issues.

The ship he's being picked up by, the _Mandela_ , just so happens to have one Jolene Kirk on board as its Chief of Engineering. He only finds this out when he nearly collides with her in the halls as he returns from the mess hall one night, lost in memories of his own days on a starship. Her coloring is the same as both of her parents- blonde hair and blue eyes- and although her jaw imitates Carol, the fire in her eyes and in her step is entirely Jim.

“Ambassador Spock,” Jolene says, spine straight and tone civil but not quite warm.

“Jolene Kirk,” he says. “A most pleasant surprise. Would you mind greatly if I were to ask to speak with you?”

“I suppose I've got time. Alright, we can talk in your room. It's closer.”

Spock acquiesces. His temporary room is kept at a Vulcan-friendly temperature, but he turns down the temperature to make Jolene more comfortable. She sits down on the small couch his quarters hold, and he sits next to her.

“It has been quite a long time since I have seen you,” Spock says. She seems unwilling to start the conversation.

“Yes. It has.”

She is clearly unhappy, but Spock is unsure why. Had she not wishes to talk to him, she could simply have declined.

“I was unaware that you had earned the position of Chief Engineer. Congratulations.”

“I earned it three years ago,” is all Jolene says in response.

“...If I may ask, what prompted you to follow engineering?” The conversation is falling stagnant, Jolene’s replies short and flat.

“Well,” Jolene says, “Kirks tend to get themselves killed in command, as do Marcuses. Then there's the fact that I look just like my poor mother- I can't exactly go around in the science division looking like I'm trying to just replace her.”

“Your poor mother?” Spock asks. “Is Dr. Marcus unwell?”

“Is she-?”

For the first time during their conversation, Jolene looks Spock in the eyes. She simply stares for a moment, then shakes her head. A bitter smile grows on her face, an echo of one Spock once knew on a different face.

“You didn't even come to his funeral,” Jolene says, more to herself than anyone else. “So I don't suppose you'd give a shit about my mom, either, huh?” When she looks up, her eyes are fiery cold. “When dad died, mom blamed herself. She had pointed out whatever the hell dad had gone down to fix before he got sucked out into space. After the funeral, she really lost it. She's in an institution in the mountains of Northern California, now.”

The tone in her voice is familiar and Spock knows that he must be very, very careful when he next speaks. Unsure as to how to diffuse the situation, especially when he's not sure why she became upset in the first place, Spock takes the generic route.

“I am sorry,” he says.

“No you're not,” Jolene snaps, shooting to her feet. Her fists are clenched at her sides, and she glares fiercely at him. Spock is reminded of his first Pon Farr, how Jim had looked at him then, shaking with rage at Spock’s deception.

Spock is unsure where he went wrong. He has spent so long dealing with Romulans that it seems he has forgotten how to maneuver around social situations with humans. The air between him and Joleen crackles, and Spock is suddenly desperate to make her understand something he himself doesn't quite understand.

“The last time I saw you, when you were five,” he says. “You told me that you wanted to be a captain, just like your father. You asked me question after question over ice cream, and when you could not finish your treat, your father did. You begged me to play starship with you.”

“The last time you saw me,” Jolene spits, “I believed in unicorns. You’ve been too busy being a teacher and an ambassador to bother being a friend ever since then. He died _fifteen years_ _ago,_ when I was seventeen. You didn't even bother to show up at his funeral!” She shakes her head in disgust. “Some friend you are, huh?

“You know, he used to go on and on about the friendship you two had, the crazy adventures the two of you took part in during your service on the _Enterprise_. I never saw any of that friendship. The two funerals we had- _two,_ and your were invited to both but never showed up to _either-_ were packed to the brim. The private one was family or semi-family, like the Sulus and Uncle Scotty and Aunt Uhura. The public one, though, damn near every last ensign or midshipman who ever served under him came to pay their respects, as did almost every Admiral in Starfleet. People who had never had more than a brief conversation with him showed up and wept, and his supposed best friend showed up to _neither_ funeral.”

Spock cannot calculate a response before Jolene has left the room, although he longs to find the right words to calm her down, to make her forgive him. Superimposed over the angry woman who stalks out of his quarters is a smiling girl with chocolate sauce around her mouth and a loose braid of white blonde hair, eyes as blue as her father’s.

They do not speak for the rest of Spock’s journey.

When Spock disembarks on New Vulcan, he is immediately ushered to his father’s residence, where T’Soret waits with their children Serol, T’Aman, and T’Cheka. Sarek is too weak to get out of bed, only hours from death. Spock sits down by Sarek’s bedside, the two of them isolated in Sarek’s bedroom. It is sunset when Spock arrives, but when Spock takes his seat by Sarek’s bed, only pale remnants of golden fire are left to spill across Sarek's room.

“Son,” Sarek murmurs. “It pleases me to no end to see you. Michael is unable to come, and Sybok refused my request.”

It is the first time since Sybok’s banishment that Sarek has spoken his name. It comes as a surprise to Spock that Sarek asked him to come, as does Sarek’s fairly blatant emotionalism. Spock betrays none of this to his father.

“I would not have ignored your request,” Spock says.

“I am relieved.”

Sarek takes a deep, labored breath. His eyes slide shut for a moment before they open once more.

“I am very close to death,” Sarek says. “I urge you to ask any questions that you would like the answers to.”

Spock does not even think.

“Why did you urge me to follow the Vulcan way completely, and not foster my human half?”

“I incorrectly assumed that if you were to act completely Vulcan, Vulcan society would not scorn you. I was wrong.”

“Your attempt to protect me only served to hurt me,” Spock said. He was not accusing his father, merely stating a fact, but Sarek looked ashamed anyways.

“I am sorry to have caused you so many issues.”

“I do not mean to accuse you.”

A long forgotten- no, not forgotten, but perhaps ignored- memory comes to mind. Jim stares at him with pleading eyes on an alien planet and asks, ‘What about your parents?’

“Why did you marry mother?” Spock asks.

Sarek turns to make direct eye contact with Spock, and says, “I married your mother because I loved her.”

_Because I loved her._

_I loved her._

_Love._

Spock’s breath stops in his chest. He stares at his father, dumbfounded. When he speaks, his voice is strained.

“I thought that Vulcans could not love.”

Sarek looks absolutely stupefied for a moment, looking at Spock as if he's never seen him before.

“Vulcans feel all the emotions that humans feel,” Sarek says. “We only suppress them, because ours are far more powerful and we cannot allow them to control us.”

Spock sits in silence for several more moments.

“Spock,” Sarek says. His tone holds vague horror, and it is obvious that he's dying if his emotions are so easily readable. “You did not go your whole life to this point believing that Vulcans do not love, correct?”

Spock has no answer for his father.

“Spock,” his father says. “You love T’Soret, correct?”

No, he does not. He finds T’Soret a pleasing companion, a excellent mother, finds her intellect exciting and her mind beautiful, but he does not love her. He isn't sure how to tell his father this, so he settles for saying nothing at all. It does not work. His father appears devastated, weaker than Spock has ever seen him.

“My son,” he says. “Oh, my son, what have I done to you?”

“You have done nothing,” Spock rasps, because everything is making sense now and it's terrible. “I have done this to myself.”

It's _terrible_.

It's terrible because he knows instantly how his life could have been different, more fulfilling. When Jim had confessed his love, Spock could have said, ‘yes, me too.’ When Jim offered himself up to satiate Spock’s Pon Farr, Spock could have later said ‘never leave me.’ But he never identified the warmth that occurred when Jim was near as love, and now they are far past too late.

Spock married and Jim married, Jim had children and Spock had children, Jim died and Spock went to Romulus instead of his funeral.

As the temperature drops, Spock does not move. Sarek slips into unconsciousness and then into death without another word being exchanged. Spock feels their bond rip and tear, and still he does not move. Moonlight spills across Sarek's still face, so wrong because Vulcan never had a moon and Sarek should not have died in moonlight, and still Spock doesn't not move.

When T’Soret comes to fetch him in the morning, she finds Spock staring blankly at his father’s dead face.

“I grieve with thee,” she murmurs, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.

Spock does not know how he could possibly tell her that grief is not the reason why he has not moved in hours. Not grief for his father, anyways. Grief for the relationship he never had with Jim is what kept him rooted in his seat, lost in thought.

Spock does not reply to her.

_And an epilogue, of sorts..._

He is in the Nexus to locate a specific Romulan who disappeared into it years ago, someone who may be a key to successful relations between the Federation and the Romulan Empire. In order to be able to leave the Nexus and not be drawn into it, Spock has had to establish rigorous mental shields. He did not intend to stumble into the part do the Nexus that he does.

“Dadda, dadda!” a young girl squeals.

Spock is in a forest, sunlight streaming through the trees in golden beams and hitting the ground in dappled splotches. A creek burbles nearby, but the sound of children playing is louder and closer. Oddly intrigued, Spock moves closer to the sound until he stands on the edge of a clearing.

In the clearing, there is a charming two-story cabin, with a front porch that holds a swinging bench. Four children run around in the front yard, giggling. One girl who looks to be about ten years old and human has dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. Another is an Andorian boy who seems to be around eight. Orion twins, a boy and a girl, seem to be about seven years old.

“Dadda!” calls the female Orion twin again.

“Yeah, pumpkin?”

Spock’s heart skips a beat at the voice, and he can hardly believe his eyes when Jim comes around the corner of the cabin. So Jim did not die when, so many years ago, he was sucked out into space through a hull breach. He was simply taken by the Nexus, preserved.

Jim’s smile is breathtakingly radiant, memories of it growing duller by the day as Spock ages. He is nearly 150 now, and yet not a day goes by that he does not think of Jim and the life together that they lost because Spock was too ignorant.

“Dadda, where's sa-mekh?” the Orion boy asks.

Spock tips his head in curiosity at the boy’s use of a Vulcan word. Jim chuckles and steps forward to ruffle his hair, earning a delivered giggle from the child. The human girl beams down at the Orion boy, but there's something off about her.

“He's getting you little rascals some iced tea.”

“Oh,” the human girl says, delighted. “Is it the peach raspberry iced tea that Uncle Bones finally gave you and sa-mekh the recipe for?”

“It is,” Jim says.

He smiles and bends down, smoothing her bangs aside to press a kiss to her forehead. Spock has to stifle a noise of surprise when he sees that her eyebrows are Vulcan. Jim gives the Andorian and the Orion twins kisses as well, then steps back again.

“Dadda, what’cha doing?” the Andorian child asks.

“I was chopping some wood for tonight's campfire,” Jim says. “Do you guys want to do a campfire tonight and have s’mores?”

“Yes, please!” The children nod eagerly.

The door from the house swings open, and Spock looks to find a younger version of himself stepping out onto the porch, a tray with four glasses of iced tea in hand.

“Sa-mekh!” the Vulcan- human? Spock isn't sure anymore, maybe she's like him- girl says.

“Hello, Amanda,” the other Spock says. “Rihlis, Tirav, Lavvi.”

Within moments, all of the glasses have disappeared off of the tray. The other Spock sets the tray down and then accepts a long, sweet kiss from Jim. The children make various ‘ew’ noises, but Spock feels as if his heart is breaking.

“Hey, handsome,” Jim says, smiling. His eyes are so blue, even from where Spock stands they're vibrant.

The children begin to play again, chasing after each other. Jim and the other Spock move to the swinging bench, sitting close enough that their arms are pressed together, fingers tangled.

Spock stands in the woods and watches it all.

He needs to leave. He knows this. But if he were to step out and talk to Jim, could he join him in this imaginary world with imaginary children? If Spock succumbs to the Nexus, would it give him Jim? Yet Spock knows that the other Spock, the one Jim pictures, is not and cannot quite be him. The other Spock is capable of giving Jim a loving and steady relationship, something that he cannot truly do. Still, the temptation is nearly overwhelming.

Romulus, he remembers. Peace, treaties, his goal. He can't very well bring Jim out with him- the universe knows him as dead, and what kind of world would be be bringing him back to? One where his children are old and his wife is long dead, one were he has passed from human to legend. Besides, Spock has a wife and children and grandchildren. No, he cannot bring Jim out, and he cannot join him.

Spock turns around and leaves, birds in the forest around him chirping like they're signifying the end of something fleeting and precious, something that was never quite there.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I do apologize for the angst, but the song fit a tragic Spirk AU so well that I couldn't resist.


End file.
